


He Will Be Loved

by fivehorizons



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Body Paint, Ficlets, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fivehorizons/pseuds/fivehorizons
Summary: a compilation of shippy drabbles centered around Tim Drake





	He Will Be Loved

“If you move again, I swear I’ll kill you,” Tim hissed, poising his weapon at the nape of his target’s neck. 

There was a moment of silence, the body underneath him going rigid in the wake of his threat.

Then, a shake—of pure laughter.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Timbo,” Jason said between one laugh and the next. “Weren’t you the one who said we were doing this for leisure?”

“It’s not so leisurely when every time I try to paint a straight line, you roll your shoulders.”

“They’re sore from patrol last night!”

“My _head_ is sore from listening to you complain about it,” Tim muttered.

“Damn, Baby Bird,” Jason whistled, “who taught you to bite?”

It was a pity Jason faced the ground, because he missed the look Tim shot him, the obvious expression that answered: _You._

“Stay still,” Tim ordered, and settled back to work.

He lined the paintbrush with Jason’s spine and steadily drew down every vertebra. Like a blade opening a wound, the brush trailed behind a red line down the dip in Jason’s back, corded with muscles that Tim kept glancing to as they worked into a more comfortable position, sinews straining in tight, powerful coils.

This was how they were spending their break time: painting their backs.

It had been Jason’s idea, proposed as a half-joke. But Tim had thought it sounded…nice. Therapeutic considering all the was going on in Gotham right now: villains running amuck, drug lords forming alliances against Hood, the demon brat acting more like an angsty teenager with every passing day. He needed this. Needed Jason close to him.

Tim stilled the brush at the small of Jason’s back, afraid of getting paint on his underwear, sticking out from the hem of his jeans.

“What?” asked Jason. “Not going to color my asscrack?”

Tim flipped the paintbrush around and jabbed its blunt end into Jason’s skull repeatedly. “Don’t be crude.”

Jason scoffed. “And here I was, thinking you liked my ass plenty.”

Tim flushed, sighing exasperatedly. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot you like.”

“God knows why,” Tim huffed.

He leaned over to dip the paintbrush into the cup filled with murky water, but suddenly the body beneath him wasn’t squirming or straining. It was moving completely.

“Jason!” he exclaimed, but the larger boy already had them flipped around, pinning Tim to the ground while he loomed above him.

His hands boxed in Tim’s face, and he hovered closer than was safe for either of them. Tim’s heartbeat sped, and he swallowed dryly.

“Your back isn’t dry,” he pointed out, keeping on a stern face though his eyes kept flicking to Jason’s bare chest. “And I wasn’t done.”

“Take off your shirt.”

The relaxed hum to Jason’s voice was gone. Laced back into the low depth of Jason Todd’s voice was a throaty rasp, like heavy smoke curling around Tim. It was intoxicating.

Never able to resist that voice, Tim slowly peeled out of his shirt, watching Jason watch him. His sea glass eyes were like a weight, heady and strong, and Tim sank to the ground, shirtless and sprawling out beneath Jason.

“Relax,” Jason said, reaching for the abandoned paintbrush. He came back with a smear of yellow on the tip. A grin split his face, and relax was the last thing Tim could think of doing.

“Let’s start here.”

Jason touched the brush at the hollow of Tim’s throat, and Tim understood why Jason had been moving around so much.

The paint was cool and slick, tickling his skin with the faintest pressure. His arm hairs stood on edge, goosebumps peppering his chest as its wet touch lingered on his fine skin. But maybe a part of it had to do with Jason, staring down at him with an intense look in his eyes as dragged the paintbrush down.

It went to the center of his chest, close to his hammering heart, before veering right to a peaked nipple.

Tim sucked in a breath. “What are you—”

Jason leaned down and kissed him, and Tim forgot about everything other than the heat of Jason’s mouth devouring his and the cold of the paintbrush circling his nipple. It was a contrast of sensation, but they set his body alight, and without thinking, he found his hips grinding up to meet Jason’s.

Jason hissed at the friction but leaned away. “Hold on,” he said, brushing back the white fringe from his face. “I still need to work on this masterpiece.”

In languid, taunting movement, Jason stretched over Tim to add another heap of yellow onto the paintbrush. Tim watched his muscles contract, sure that Jason was flexing to turn him on.

And he would never say it, but it was working.

Jason loomed over him once more, poised with a weapon and a sharp smile. “Where to next?” he hummed.

“Up your ass,” Tim bit.

Jason raised his brows, smirking. “Kinky.”

“Oh my God,” he said, rolling his eyes. But the childish motion fell short as Jason pressed the brush back down. A yellow trail began, its path slow and methodic. It started under Tim’s heart, ghosting his ribcage, before curving down to the defined shape of his abs. The brush went lower, lower, coating the fine hairs trailing below the belt of his faded jeans.

The cold, lazy touch of the brush made Tim’s cock ache. Its taunting path made his head ache.

Jason guided the brush across his waist, making small, insistent circles.

Tim decided he’d had enough teasing.  

His arms shot out, wrapping around his boyfriend’s back and dragging him down into him.

Their lips met again. It wasn’t with the tenderness of the first one. Tim yanked Jason into him, and their mouths collided, both igniting at the hard pressure and demanding press of the other’s lips.

Jason’s tongue swept into Tim’s mouth, and he mewled beneath him. His fingers clawed down Jason’s back, smearing the red strokes of paint he’d meticulously arranged. He spent valuable time and effort into making those designs, but he found that he didn’t care. It could hardly be called a waste since that was in fact Jason’s hard cock rubbing against his as he sucked a hickey onto his neck.

Tim groaned, throwing his head back onto the wood floor. He hiked up his hips to meet Jason’s, and Jason swore above him, eyes shuttering close.

He cupped a hand around Tim’s thigh and lifted it up. Tim got the memo and lifted both his legs to wrap around Jason’s hip. His heels rested on Jason’s lower back. He grounded them into the tough skin there, bringing them even closer.

They were dry humping like bashful teenagers, but from the slick of the paint smearing over Tim’s chest and hands and the hot, ferocious kisses Jason was spreading across his body like a treasure map—Tim wanted to know where X marked the spot—Tim was sure he’d come in his pants like he was still thirteen.

Not that Jason seemed to be holding on any better. He groaned with every paired thrust that rubbed them together, muttering, “God. This was such a good idea.”

“Big ego,” Tim snapped before breathing in sharply as a new spark of pleasure raced down his back.

“Not the only thing that’s big.”

Tim snorted. “I’ve seen bigger.”

Jason leaned back, mocking a hurt expression that soon turned devilish. His eyes gleamed with devious delight, and he sat up on his knees. Tim was partly turned on, partly terrified by the smirk Jason wore.

His hand freely went down his chest before hovering over the obvious tent in his pants. “Let’s see about that.”

Tim slowly ran his tongue over his pinked, kiss-flushed lip, and said, “Try me.”

Jason’s eyes practically glowed at the dare, at all the options it opened up for him.

He was pulling down his pants, bringing his underwear with it, when the door behind them opened.

“Break time’s up! Tim, we need—OH MY GOD!”

“Dick!” the pair screamed, Tim going redder than the paint smeared on his hands.

Jason’s terror devolved into hysterical laughing, the utter opposite of Tim’s paralysis, and he collapsed on top of Tim, effectively trapping him against the ground as Dick gaped at them.

“I can explain,” Tim tried. “We, Jason and I, uh—”

Jason rolled off of Tim, pants thankfully back up, and leaned up to look at Dick, a leer in his expression. “We’re dating, Dickiebird.” He waggled his fingers unceremoniously. “Surprise.”

Dick opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it. Thought better.

“He looks like a fish,” Jason whispered to Tim, but loud enough for Dick to hear across the room.

Without looking at them, he asked, “Are you guys, uh, being safe?”

Jason cocked his head with a grin. “Safe as young vigilantes can be.”

“Jason,” Dick said, a new seriousness in his voice. His eyes narrowed in on both of them, the heat packing like a punch. “This is serious.”

Before Jason could fuck things up more, Tim rushed out, “Yes, we’re using protection and everything, Dick.”

“Good.” The serious tone and sharpness faded back into an embarrassed flush and lack of eye contact. “And are you both…happy?”

Before he could stop himself, Tim’s eyes flicked to Jason, gauging his reaction. A knot tightened around his throat, and dread flowed free like venom in his bloodstream.

Because that thought haunted him every night, even the ones he went to bed sated and with Jason curled next to him—was he good enough? Was he worth caring about?

Answering Dick, and Tim, Jason nodded firmly. “Yes.” He lost the nonchalant, taunting smirk and stare. His face was squared and even, and he wrapped his hand around Tim, his palm falling warm around his shoulder. “I’m happy,” Jason said, and now it was his turn to stare expectantly—hopefully—at Tim.

Tim smiled and placed his hand on top of Jason’s, squeezing once. “We both are.”

Dick loosened up with his words, and a small smile came to his face. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Thanks, bro,” Jason said, actually meaning it.

“But could you, uh, keep this on the downlow?” Tim asked. More like begged.

Dick waved his hand. “Oh, yeah. I’m the king of downlow.”

Jason coughed. “Liar.”

Dick heard and scrunched his nose. “I swear I won’t tell anyone else. Not until you guys are ready.” He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You will tell them eventually though, right?”

“The rings come in on Thursday, so probably around then,” Jason said, throwing his older brother a suggestive smile. “Before the honeymoon.”

Dick nearly choked, and the color drained from Tim’s face.

“Jason!” Tim cried, elbowing him in the gut before turning to a shell-shocked Dick. “He’s kidding. Oh my God, Dick, don’t die. It was a joke.”

Dick’s hand shot to his heart, and he leaned on the doorframe for support. “Don’t ever do that again!”

Jason, doubled over in hysterics, leaned up to spurt, “It was fucking hilarious.”

“He won’t,” Tim said firmly. He’d add on the consequences if Jason decided to disobey him, but he’d already scarred Dick by having him walk in on them.

“Good,” Dick huffed, clearly exhausted by everything that’d happened since he made the mistake of intruding on Jason and Tim’s break time. As the three fell into an uncomfortable moment of silent, Dick scratched the back of his head.

“So, I’ll let you guys finish.”

“You don’t need—”

But Dick wasn’t going to have the argument. He shut the door behind him, and Tim could hear the receding footsteps were at a sprint.

Tim turned from the sealed door to Jason. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Neither can I, babybird.”

Tim pursed his lips, glancing back to the door and straining to hear if anyone else was coming by. “So what now?”

“I hate to say this, but we gotta listen to Dick,” Jason said, before pulling Tim against him and kissing him until he forgot the world existed.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone has suggestions for things they'd want me to write lmk!


End file.
